


and so this is christmas

by impossiblepluto



Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [18]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Found Family, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: another year over and a new one just begun
Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552330
Comments: 31
Kudos: 77





	and so this is christmas

“This is gonna suck,” Mac warns, struggling against the ropes securing them to the chairs, looking for slack to slip his hands free. His shoulder wrenched and bruised and protesting the awkward angle in which it’s confined. 

“Always does.”

“On three?”

“Flip on three or one, two, three and then flip?”

“One, two, three, then flip.”

Mac tenses for the countdown, then throws his weight to the right, while Riley also moves to her right. 

“Ow!” She bites back a yell when the ropes constrict on already throbbing joints and digging against tender skin.

“Sorry. Your left, my right,” Mac apologizes, trying to wiggle his fingers and get some feeling back into his numb hands. “Actually, we’ll probably have to rock the chairs a few more times gather to enough momentum to flip them. Jack’s a lot heavier than you.”

Riley snorts. “Glad you noticed.”

“You ready to try again?”

“Yeah, before I lose all feeling in my hands entirely.”

“One,” in sync they throw themselves to one side. The chairs barely even wobble with their efforts. 

“Two,” a shudder this time.

“Three,” the legs on Mac’s left side jump from the ground.

“Again!” Using all of his strength and power Mac shoves his body sideways, ignoring his protesting bruises. The chairs lift, balancing on two legs apiece, like a car of an old buddy cop movie taking a curve too fast. Hovering precariously at a ninety-degree angle, defying physics and the laws of gravity. Mac has just enough time to worry about how much it’s going to hurt before the ground rushes up to meet them.  


They land with enough force to crack the spindles of the chair. Mac shoves the now loosened ropes from his arms, quickly untying his legs before anyone can hear the clatter and come investigate. 

“You okay?” He asks, rummaging through the debris and unscrewing a bolt from the underside of the chair. He spares her a glance, frowning at the bruise on her cheek. 

“I’m great,” Riley replies hefting a sturdy chair leg as a weapon. “You don’t mention mine, and I won’t ask about the goose egg above your eyebrow.”

“Deal,” Mac replies and she follows him to the door of their cell. 

Using the screw as leverage he works the bolts from the hinges. Pulling the heavy metal door out of the way enough to escape from their prison. Riley helps him slide it back into place. It might buy them an extra few seconds before an alarm is raised signaling their escape. 

Mac closes his eyes, pulling up his mental map. Blindfolded when they were marched through the compound, he committed the twists and turns to memory. His right and left hands twitching in the pattern they should take to make their escape.

“Mac?” Riley questions, trying not to hurry him, but they really need to get going.

“Okay, got it.” A controlled sprint down the hallway, pausing as they round corners, listening for guards. 

They’ve just taken their second left when an alarm sounds. The lights of the hallway going dark and a strobe lights flash adding to the pandemonium.  


“No chance it’s just a fire drill, huh?” Riley asks as Mac grabs her hand, racing down the corridor. No reason to bother with stealth anymore. 

Pounding footsteps echo in the passageway behind them, giving chase. A bullet pings overhead. Mac ducks. They skid around a corner, taking another left and right. Concrete slivers splinter from the corner of the brick wall as a bullet connects. Mac flinches as the shards pepper the side of his face and neck, flicking his hand against the stinging sensation. 

A pop of gunfire reverberates through the stone halls and Mac gives a shout. He stumbles as a hot tearing sensation burns across his upper right arm. His hand claps against it, and comes away bloody. 

Riley’s footsteps falter in concern. “Mac?”

“Keep going,” Mac pushes her ahead of him through a doorway. He pauses, slamming the door shut behind them and wedging the screw he’d hung onto into the jamb at it closes, buying them precious seconds. Fists thud against the barricade.  


They crash through another door and out of the building into a blast of cold air and sunshine.

A black van screeches to a halt, rocking against the curb. The back door slides open. 

“Anyone call for an Uber?” 

Riley and Mac dive into the back, landing in a pile of adrenaline, shaky limbs, and post-mission laughter as Bozer yanks the door shut and yells “drive!” 

Tires squeal, rubber burning and the van hurtles through the parking lot. Bullets scratch the paint, clinking, but can’t penetrate. The van crashes through the closed chain-link fence, sparks flying and metal shrieks as the gate is dragged along the asphalt for a few feet behind them.

Mac pulls himself to sit up, running a hand through his hair, bracing against the wall through another turn and the shrill wail of tires. 

Dark eyes assessing the team through the rearview mirror. 

“You’re hit, MacGyver.” 

Mac fingers the tear in the sleeve of his button-down, the edges damp, stained with blood. 

“Bozer get that shirt off of him and see what’s going on. Riley, first aid kit.”

“It’s a graze, Des,” Mac complains as Bozer descends on him, engrossed in his task and slaps Mac’s hands away from the buttons. 

“Didn’t ask you,” Desi retorts, glancing up in the mirror to watch their progress. 

Bozer eases the sleeve from Mac’s arm, only to be thwarted by the long-sleeves of his Henley. 

“How many layers are you wearing?” he complains as he helps Mac shed the Henley and can only laugh when he finds a t-shirt underneath. This sleeve he rolls up over Mac’s shoulder. His bruised and swollen shoulder.

Mac gives a one sided half-shrug. “It’s cold.”

Riley hands over the first aid kit, and Bozer pulls on a pair of gloves, looking at the crease along Mac’s muscle. 

“It does look like a graze,” Bozer confirms to Desi, poking at the wound and making Mac wince. “This bruising doesn’t look great, though,” he continues, palpating the joint. 

“I think it’s sprained,” Mac confesses. He hisses and wriggles in his seat from the burning sensation of Bozer cleaning the wound and wrapping it in gauze. 

They pull into the airport, grabbing their gear, and stripping the van of any identifying marks, gathering up the bloody gauze and giving the interior a quick wipe down. A skilled CSI would probably still be able to find DNA, trace and even fingerprints but when the mission and ex-fil allows, they try to limit the evidence they leave behind. A call from Matty can erase them from the system, but better not to abuse that power. 

Desi grabs her bag. A wistful look towards the terminal before she slams the shutters closed on that expression and turns, following her team towards the runway. 

“Where are you going?” Mac asks with a frown. 

“Ex-fil,” she states. Her tone daring him to argue.

“You have a flight waiting,” he reminds her, gesturing with the bag in his left hand away from the Phoenix jet. “And people waiting for you.” 

“I have a wounded teammate, I’m making sure he gets home safely,” she says, trying to snatch his bag from him. 

“I’m fine. It’s just a graze.” Mac pulls his bag back, turning away so it’s out of her reach. 

“Forgive me, if I want medical to confirm that.”

Mac rolls his eyes. 

“That,” Desi gestures, “that right there is why I need to go with, so you don’t try to blow this off.”

“I’m not going to blow this off. I know when I need to get help.”

“You didn’t mention it.”

“I was in the van for less than thirty seconds, enjoying the post-mission adrenaline crash and escape high. Come on, Des. Don’t make me feel guilty that you’re going to miss your plane for me.”

“I can catch another flight.”

“And miss out on the few days you have to spend with your family? I’m not letting you do that.”

Desi raises an eyebrow at him. “You aren’t letting me? Try to stop me,” she challenges, taking a step closer. 

Mac drops his bag, moving into her space.  


“Instead of a battle of the wills, and you two ending up in stalemate chokeholds,” Riley begins.

“As usual,” Bozer mumbles under his breath.

“How about, Desi will get on her flight as planned and Mac will check in, from medical.”

Mac and Desi stare at each other for a moment, gauging the other’s expressions. 

“I can live with that, if Blondie would agree to it.”

“That was my plan all along. I just have a stubborn partner.” 

“I work with an arrogant, know it all,” Desi says, taking half a step forward. “I’ll want the paperwork when you're done.” 

“Already knew that,” Mac smirks. 

Desi rolls her eyes. “Merry Christmas, MacGyver.”

“Merry Christmas, Des. See you at New Year’s.” 

* * *

Mac sits on the exam bed in medical. His button-down and Henley folded next to him, and t-shirt rolled to expose the graze on his arm. 

“Bozer, I’m fine,” he argues as Reese cleans the wound. He squirms when she hits a particularly sore spot. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I’ve been thinking about this for a few weeks. You staying home for Christmas. I don't like it.”

“Are you just getting cold feet about meeting Leanna’s family?” Mac teases. 

“No!” Bozer protests, loudly. “No. Not at all. Thrilled to meet Leanna’s family and all eighty-seven cousins that are gonna be at her grandmother’s house. But leaving my best friend, my brother, alone at Christmas, that’s not a cool move. Especially now when he’s just been shot while saving the world. Leanna will understand.” 

“Reese, tell him I’m fine.”

She smiles. “You did a great job cleaning this out, Bozer. Couples of stitches and he’ll be good. Plus, McClain and I are on call all day tomorrow.” She turns, addressing Mac. “All day. Chinese food and cheesy movies on repeat if you need anything.” 

“No Die Hard?” Mac teases. 

Reese laughs. “Don’t let my-- our McClain hear you. And don’t tell him I told you, but I think he really misses getting a Jack Dalton movie reenactment, especially at this time of year.” 

“It’s… not quite the same without it,” Mac admits. 

It’s the closest Mac’s come to admitting he misses Jack since he left. The most he’s talked about Jack in months, a sore subject that no one knows how to broach and Bozer hedges.

“I’m not letting you use this as an excuse to get out of meeting Leanna’s family. Be honest with her and stay home if you want, but not because of me.” Mac focuses on his friend instead of the suture needle sliding through his flesh.  “Do you want to be known as the boyfriend who bailed last minute. You’ll never live that down.”

Reese cringes. “That is a bad look. Not one that you can recover from.”

“Honestly, Boze, if you bail on your plans I’m going to be upset,” Mac says seriously. 

The door to the exam room opens. 

“Imaging looks good,” McClain says, pulling up the x-rays on his tablet and flicking through the pictures to show Mac. “No joint separation. Ice for the first twenty-four hours. Heat after that. Ibuprofen for pain and inflammation. We’ll start some PT after the first of the year to make sure you don’t lose any strength or mobility.” 

Mac nods, listening to the familiar instructions. 

“Stitches can come out in a few days.”

Reese opens a supply cabinet and pulls out a sling. Mac makes a face. 

“It’s for your comfort, and it will give the joint some extra stability,” McClain says.  


Bozer looks between the sling and Mac.

Mac can see his friend gearing up for another debate of why he should stay home, to make sure that Mac follows the doctor's orders and doesn't overdo it. “I’ll wear the sling. I can manage one-handed. Please go, Boze.” 

“Alright, alright,” Bozer holds up his hands in surrender then squeezes Mac's good shoulder as he heads for the door. “But I’m checking in with you. And no opening your Christmas present from me until I get back. We would have had time for that if you and Riley hadn’t gotten kidnapped.”

Mac shakes his head with fond exasperation. 

* * *

Riley steers the car up the winding roads towards Mac’s house in the hills. 

“You could come with me,” she offers, glancing over at Mac. 

“I’m not intruding on Christmas with your mom. It’s been years since the two of you got to spend it together without terrorists, bombs, or prison separating you.”

“Yeah, but it’s not intruding if it’s family.” She feels the way Mac raises his eyebrow and smiles. “She loves you and was ready to adopt Jack’s son if he had been able to commit this time.” 

Mac fiddles with the strap on his sling. 

“Have you heard from him?”

“It’s been a while,” Mac admits.

“Yeah, same here,” Riley sighs. “I wonder if it’s Christmas wherever he is. Or if it’s just another day.” 

“Even if they’re stuck somewhere, the Jack I knew would have done something for his team.”

“Something corny and sentimental,” Riley agrees with a fond smile at memories of Christmases past.

“But the Jack I knew wouldn’t have left,” Mac mutters darkly, turning his gaze back out the window, watching the familiar neighborhood flash by. Lights and trees and giant ornaments decorating the front lawns he can see from the street. Jack had been trying for years to convince him to deck the exterior of the house, more than just the usual few lights and a wreath. Mac had promised him this year Jack could go crazy with the decorating, even as he cringed imagining the utter chaos of lights that would cover his house.  


“He might, if he thought he was doing the right thing. Even if it turned out to be the completely wrong one.”

“Riley, I’m sorry, I--”

She shakes her head, interrupting. “I love him. He’s the father I never had. He’s the reason I have you and Bozer, and the three of you are the family I always wanted, but he’s an idiot. And if he ever comes home, I’m going to tell him that.” 

Mac licks his lips. “That’s the key word. If.”

Silence falls in the car. The Jack they knew would come home. Each one sure of it. But that was the Jack they knew. Not the one who left them behind to track down a terrorist who he deemed so dangerous that he didn’t want his highly trained family with him, watching his back. The family who tangled with Murdoc, tracked down The Ghost and was hunted by Harper Hayes and Jack still decided he couldn't risk them on the Kovac mission. 

Mac worried about the dark places in Jack’s mind that he’d be returning to after years of being out of that particular version of his work. Even if the mission was successful, would the Jack he knew ever return to them? Would he trust himself to come home again?  


Riley pulls into the driveway. The car idles for a minute, neither one wanting to leave the other’s comforting presence. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” 

“I’m looking forward to Bozer’s leftovers and not making conversation.”

“Want me to come in for a minute? Anything you need two hands to do?” She waves her fingers in the air offering her assistance. 

“No, you’re already late. Tell your mom Merry Christmas from me,” Mac says opening the car door. He pauses, turning back to look at her. “Merry Christmas, Riles.” He leans over, giving her a hug, brushing his lips against her cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Mac,” she gives him a melancholy smile. 

Mac grabs his bag from the back seat, making his way up the front walk. Daylight fading quickly as the sun dips lower. He unlocks the door, and he gives a wave before stepping inside, watching her back out of the driveway and disappear down the road. With a sigh of relief he closes the door, dropping his bag on the floor and with it his carefully constructed mask. The ache he's kept buried overtakes him. 

He walks into the kitchen, opening the fridge and observing shelves filled with tupperware that Bozer left for him. After a few minutes of staring at his options, he grabs a bottle of water and let the door swing closed. 

He leans against the counter, sipping his water. The living room is dark. Long shadows obscuring the outline of the tree he reluctantly decorated. His house is the gathering place otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered at all, but Bozer begged and Riley cajoled and Mac gave in. Even Desi stopped by during the decorating party, though she mostly drank beer and critiqued the crooked tree. 

The record player didn't croon carols this year. 

They never quite finished with the ornaments, and the mantel is bare, not a stocking or sock in sight. Usually, garland and lights hang over the cupboards in the kitchen but they never managed to hang that either. 

He slept through the one Christmas movie the team gathered to watch. He's not even sure which one it was and his hot chocolate was cold by the time he woke. 

A shower before dinner, he decides, putting aside his melancholic attitude and heading toward his bedroom. A wide yawn cracks his jaw, jetlag catching up with him. A shower and followed by a pre-dinner nap. 

* * *

2348

The blue light of his alarm clock displays military time in his dark bedroom.

Mac snorts. A seven hour, long winter’s nap. He checks his phone, making sure he didn’t miss a message from any of his teammates that would have them panicking and is relieved to find that he doesn’t need to do damage control, prepare for a TAC team to bust down his door or expect a house call from McClain or Reese. 

Almost Christmas day. The end of another year. 

The crescent moon high in the sky shines through his window, illuminating the room. He laid down on top of his blankets, intending a twenty minute power nap after his shower. He scrubs a hand through his hair, smoothing down the pillow-dried cowlick that has it sticking up at all angles. Contemplating getting up and rummaging through the fridge again, seeing if anything whets his appetite this time. Instead, he starts shimmying his way under the blankets. 

A rustling noise from the other room stops him. He pauses, listening, trying to remember if he locked the door on his way in. 

Maybe Desi didn’t trust him and followed him home. Maybe Bozer couldn’t take the questions from all of Leanna’s cousins and threw in the towel. Maybe Riley, feeling as lugubrious as he does, decided to seek comfort. 

Maybe any of the hundred and one bad guys and terrorists Mac's put away decided to leave him a Christmas gift. 

Mac eases himself from his bed, moving quietly and avoiding squeaky floorboards. 

Jingle bells jangle and Mac frowns. Despite claiming to believe in Santa to annoy Jack, he doesn’t really think the big guy is sliding down his chimney and leaving gifts under the tree. 

There’s only one thing on his list this year, and unless Santa has sniper experience, he’s pretty sure that’s not ending up in his living room wrapped in paper and a bow. 

He moves cautiously down the hallway, a dim golden light glows from the living room. He doesn’t remember turning on the tree when he got home. 

He pauses at the threshold. Heart racing as he hears another jingle. Taking note of nearby items and mentally building a hack for self-defense and incapacitating the intruder. 

He peers around the corner, a red suited figure with familiar broad shoulders stands in front of his tree. 

“Jack?” He whispers. 

The man turns around, salt-and-pepper beard where a white one would be, grin splitting his face and eyes crinkling in delight. 

“Merry Christmas, kid.” 

Mac stands there, jaw slack wondering if he’s being visited by the ghost of Christmas past, or maybe future. “Are you… home for Christmas?”

“I think I made a mistake, hoss,” Jack takes a step closer, carefully watching Mac’s reactions. Black combat boots clicking on the hardwood floor. “A big one. Huge. Worst one I've made in my life. I thought I was doing the right thing, protecting my family. I thought they didn’t really need me here. Maybe I was right about that last part. The truth is, I need them."  


Mac crosses the living room. 

"I'm not home for Christmas, hoss. I'm home for good."

Jack pulls Mac into a hug. A hug that would have stopped him from walking out the door all those months ago, if he’d reached out for that rather than a handshake. He feels the tension leak out of Mac at the touch. His own heart feels lighter than it has in almost a year. He’d known that dark and heavy ache was there, choking him but hadn’t realized how deeply that suffocating feeling had burrowed into his soul. Tears prickle behind his eyes as he cradles the back of Mac’s head. His shoulders shake as he tries to hold back tears.  


“Merry Christmas, Jack.”

**Author's Note:**

> And so Happy Christmas, I hope you had fun. 
> 
> I had a blast sharing December with you guys! Looking forward to even better things in 2020!


End file.
